


Conflict of Interest

by CharbroilLaFlamme



Series: Bioshock: Measurement of A Father [20]
Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Betrayal, BioShock References, BioShock Spoilers, Gen, Rapture (BioShock)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 01:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15830895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharbroilLaFlamme/pseuds/CharbroilLaFlamme
Summary: Gil watches Epsilon’s feed—but has other plans on his mind.





	Conflict of Interest

_Epsilon. Nothing but Epsilon. And... daughter._

_Daughter is all there is. Daughter and enemies. People trying to hurt her. Strangers._

_Who am I?_

_What?_

She’s running away now, far ahead. Fast. She smells an angel, she cries _papá_ —cheerfully.

She must have found the angel she was looking for.

Epsilon clambers up the slanted corridor to find her standing in a puddle of water mingling with blood, the needle shines in whatever light there is, dripping with luminous red.

Everyone is asleep, or should be. But they hear him. And they are afraid.

Rightfully so. They see—day after day—the people desperate enough to attack fall like flies.

Epsilon did not count the attackers, only judged them by their intent.

Epsilon sees his child yawn, and remembers, like clockwork, where the nearest vent is.

Her hidey-hole.

The safest place in the world to her—second only to Epsilon’s knightly arms.

He is alone again.

 

* * *

 

Gil, too, felt alone, watching the feed late into the night. Little did he know what he would see firsthand. 

The great beast had thumped into the restrooms, aimless, without purpose now that his child was tucked away.

Gil couldn’t exactly pinpoint how it made him feel, seeing this creature, lurch into the darkness dimly, just another common sight in Rapture—systematic brainwashing, imprinting, animal sciences implanted in a human subject, accompanied by dubious morals.

The logic half of Gil’s was mind abuzz with a million questions, hunting for answers.

The other half... feelings. Buckets of feelings. Confusion. The lingering feeling that he’d done something dreadfully wrong. Disappointed Tenenbaum.

But he knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was what Lamb wanted—unification. Love.

He glanced back at the screen.

Epsilon had since stopped, to look at a foggy, smudged mirror, speckled with god-knows-what.

He was clearly calculating something, then reaching out to touch the glass surface.

Of course, instead of the gently fingertips of his glove grazing the reflection—it was a fist, and a roar, and the mirror shattering into thousands of bits.

Gil gazed at it in muted shock—Epsilon was staring at the spot where the mirror was, once. Contented now that he could no longer see himself.

“Oh, god,” Gil intoned shakily. An apology sat on his tongue for a while.

Bleakly, Gil sat back, Epsilon’s vision stayed on the mirror’s frame, but the angle was lowered just so—like he was ashamed.

Gil could hear Sinclair now.

In the back of his mind, an incomprehensibly angry voice that Gil had never heard escape Sinclair.

He had heard him panic, and wither, and groan his last human sound as the suit became a part of him.

Sinclair would be cursing him—despite being nothing but cooperative throughout the whole conversion.

It was what Gil attributed to a guilty conscience. But perhaps, beneath his relaxed façade, Sinclair really was wishing death on Gil. Just never getting the chance to do anything.

_Look what you did, doc, took everything. My name, my voice, an’ my face._

_You promised, Gil, that you wouldn’t let me forget._

Though looking at it, Gil could see that Epsilon could remember some things.

Perhaps he may remember other faces, as Tenenbaum indicated. Little Sisters are capable of facial recognition. And on some level, so should Protectors.

More intrusive thoughts interrupted Gil’s pondering. The joy Sinclair felt once with Marina.

Yes, Gil still thought of her.

She hadn’t found a kinship in anyone until Sinclair showed up. Connecting through what made them different, having short conversations in Spanish.

Sinclair could form this sort of meaningful bond long before the adapting process had begun.

Sinclair had officially adopted her the day before full conversion.

He was docile—and so tired, dragging his feet—led out as if in a procession, to her. He had an IV tube or two stuck in him as he had been retrieved from the surgery wing—just for this one last face-to-face reunion. Before he was to be put under for prep. And the big day coming.

With love in his eyes, and a heartbreaking, faux-cheerful lilt in his voice, he had officially called her his. And had told her that that he would see her again.

Gil had been there, and it was as to be expected after such a long, arduous course for Sinclair to finally break. But Gil wouldn’t admit to anyone but himself, he did well up a little.

Just a little.

Gil didn’t want to take this away from Sinclair, this purpose, a pledge to protect, and defend, forever. And Lamb peddled that sort of thing—altruism, unconditional servitude to the many.

Perhaps it scared Gil, but Lamb’s philosophy almost sort of... got to him.

Speaking of Lamb, he had visited her again, under the radar, Tenenbaum had not known— _thank God_. Now that he listened, he could see both sides of the argument. 

But he still couldn’t seem to decide. Tenenbaum was, by all means, a trusted ally—but what was Lamb? Someone who gave Gil a single taste of compassion, love.

Telling him that what he was doing was, on some level, right to do.

Lamb was considered dangerous—justified by her wits.

There was a reason she was put behind high-security walls.

Because of people like Gil who would do what she wanted them to.

Gil was starved for approval, starved for affection. Lamb gave it in spades. And in return, he listened intently, as she detailed the Family’s escape.

Which was scheduled for that night.


End file.
